A breeze, blueberry in its coolness,
takes just a little of the sun's heat...
leaves a film of salt upon my skin.

The 'shoosh' of waves claim back the beach
erase my footprints - leave no trace
my presence not a necessity -

Though my shadow shades the dunes.
Sea weed and flotsum edged by foam
beckons spotted petrels, black naped terns

red billed gulls, and other seabirds.
Silver pitched tones swoop & swirl in the air...
quixotic hunters on the summer wind.

The scents of sea and sand invade my lazy mind
and sharpen senses,each sense a pinpoint -
pricking through reality.

I taste the sun's heat - tart as a lime.
I hear the history of time in one grain of sand.
Perhaps it was a mountain once, before

mere mortals walked upon this Earth
or was it borne by desert winds from distant Araby?
New vistas form with fresh perception.

A gust of air and I hold a blade of lemongrass.
Look towards the meadow which next appears.
The fresh smells of clover, grass and buttercups

waft upon the summer air above the golden fields... seep
through my reverie. Each thought coloured, like the rays
of an August sun shimmering through a dew drop.

The hum of bees prevails and sleep threatens
to take hold. I must shake away this lethargy -
run with the wind, abandon control, follow my heart.

Whimsical, am I. I trust in the wind... guiding
me towards the forest, ancient, cool and dark.
Branches mesh, high overhead - even the air seems green.

Underfoot a rustling carpet of eucalyptus leaves,
hibiscus petals, leaves of fern. . . whisk upwards -
then fall back to the ground and mask my prints.

I stand stock still and know I'm being watched
by eyes, so diamond bright, they shine in hollows
where light is scarce enough to see.

Each tiny creature stops in their nocturnal activities;
flash of silence, a rasping screech, wings rise and dip -
waves of cool air bush against my cheek,

marking passage of a flying fox, seeking an evening meal.
Hurry away moths or you'll be on the menu
just another morsel of forest cuisine.

Resume your migration from Canberra to Cairns.
I too will follow, knowing time is passing all too fast.
Soon Winter winds will blow, more leaves will fall.

Go north, where 'cold' is but a memory
best left behind. Go where your instincts take you,
as I will go with mine.

Now we must part; maybe meet again
not knowing time or place -
we're just following the wind.

Callahan's Collaboration
November 2006

TEALDUST - MaryEdna
MIDUSTOUCH - Vickie